“Mora Ga’Na.” A voice like dry parchment called out, and Celeste spun with a sudden smile. She knew that voice. A quick glance showed the Ga’Na hobbling over whilst being helped by Raka, the young translator that had eased Celeste and the Ga’Na’s first meeting. The Ga’Na turned to the Bishop, raising her head to reveal her throat and slapped it. “I wish to speak with the Little Mercy, I ask your permission.” The Korek’ta word for permission she used made it clear that she had little intention of accepting any denial. Bristling, the bishop nodded, looking past her.

“To this I consent.” He responded in perfect Korek’ta. The Ga’Na blinked at him then chuckled. “Though I will be back.”

“You speak like my grandfather.” She told him.

“Perhaps.” He mused with what almost seemed a chuckle. “It might very well have been him I learned it from.” His eyes darted back to the crowd, followed by a terse nod. “There is an errant priest I must speak with anyways, I shall return.” He gave Celeste and the Ga’Na a bow, then began pushing his way into the crowd. Drawing a line from his direction, Celeste spotted Gardinal and whispered a quick prayer for the man. From her father’s tone it was unlikely to be a pleasant conversation.

“Sit, little mercy, there is something I wish to speak of.” The Ga’Na bit her lip, then added. “I fear, perhaps, it is long overdue.”

Celeste turned her gaze back to the Ga’Na and furrowed her brow in concern. The words she used in Korek’ta were ominous, speaking of grave consequences.

“Is… is everything alright?” Celeste asked. The Ga’Na just waved her off, and motioned to the cushions that Raka rushed about placing for them. Helping the Ga’Na down first, Celeste followed. She had to adjust her gown as she sat, the long silk wrapping her up like one of the pigs that roasted over the nearby campfires. The cushions were rough linen, nothing like the silks she slept on, but still a fine comfort.

“I want to thank you girl.” The Ga’Na spoke, looking out over the crowd as they danced. Celeste saw the gaze, and saw a tear form in the Ga’Na’s eye. “For all you have done.”

“Please.” Celeste responded. “I should be thanking you. It was such an honour to be a part of this ceremony, one I hardly felt worthy of.”

The Ga’Na turned to her, and a grandmotherly smile formed on her face as she shook her head. “I do not thank you for the ceremony child, but for what you have done for our city.” The word for city meaning both the land, and the people in it. Biting her lip, the Ga’Na looked back at the bonfire and shook her head. “I was born here, long ago now, and now my great-great grandchild shall be born here as well. Because of you. This city has long hated me, hated my people, not for who we are, or what we have done, but for who made us so long ago.” She shook her head, then looked back to Celeste, tears now streaming down her face. “But… no longer I find this. My people now walk among Southshore and are seen as equals. We help, we fix, we build, and the people accept us.”

Celeste swallowed nervously, a prickling on the edge of her mind causing her to shift uncomfortably in her seat. “This was none of my doing.” She insisted. “I just… I made a mess of everything everywhere I went. The good, the trust, it was all your people. It was the Korek, helping others when they needed it.”

“No.” The Ga’Na cut her off. “You have shown my people mercy, have offered them a branch of trust. Through you, the people of Southshore now see us as more than just monsters. The people love you, and they saw you give us kindness. Most people are neither bad nor good, Little Mercy, they are simply followers looking for someone to lead.” The Ga’Na reached out and grabbed one of Celeste’s hands, placing it on her throat. “Thank you, Mora Ga’Na, thank you for leading them to accept us. Thank you for giving my people the chance to be good.”

“No.” Celeste responded, grabbing the Ga’Na’s hand and placing it on her own throat. “Thank you for inspiring your own people to be good. You have made your people kind and strong.”

At that the Ga’Na sniffled away her tears, and Celeste realized she too had water in her eyes. They shared a long look, a look that said everything words could not. After a long moment, their hands fell and they returned to their seated position, looking out over the crowd once more.

The Ga’Na let out a long sigh eventually, then began to speak once more. “Child, I wish to tell you a story. An important one of my people. A truth of what we could have been, of what we almost were. Will you listen?”

The word for listen was closer to understand, to feel, to live through the experience of words, more than just to listen. Celeste nodded. The Ga’Na looked off into the fire, and began to speak with a rhythm to her voice.

“Listen to my story, listen to it close. Many years ago, before the war, before you were born, a young Korek child was born to our band.” The Ga’Na began, flame flickering in her eyes.